The Troubles and Tribulations of Brinden: 1, Chaos in the Colony
by ImperialsArePossesive
Summary: Brinden, a new colony seized by the great Empire of Knandle to the west, suffers from starvation, disease, and angry natives that harass the farmers who live there. The King has decided that a duke must own the land there and set up a formal government to control the situation. But when the King's young, shy daughter Emilia is chosen, the entire Empire is shocked.


I.

And there the boy stood in front of the panoramic view of his home. The mud around him smelled of humid mid day sun. The roofs below him seemed sprinkled so proportionally with the bright yellow, sticky pollen falling from the trees like heavenly rain. The thatched roofs seemed to curve outwards, almost rejecting the coat of pollen that now overwhelmed the romantic color of the town with a sickly yellow-green. The humidity seemed to penetrate through the small layers of clothing the boy wore and made him sweat even when he barely moved. Sun seemed to mock the small village, sitting lazily in the sky sending down ray after ray of intense warmth that made even napping uncomfortable. If this were any other day, the boys of the village would crowd to the light blue lake that sat so gently in the surrounding brush around the town. Yet today was not a normal day. The native Gresvin population overran the farmers that worked the brush early in the morning in a planned assault. After the simple murder, a decapitation took place in the lake the boys of the village loved so dearly when the sun was this hot. The village awoke from the screams and the shrill war cry provided by the Gresvin. Women screamed, children cried, priest prayed, all while the invaders paraded way with now decorated weapons with heads on spikes and limbs attached to their belts as trophies. The blood tainted the relaxing cool water with a thick, red cloud. After a makeshift ceremony of mourning, cleaning preparations quickly took place, and the village ran along as it did, knowing that if they stalled, they may starve in the next month. And this was life in Brinden. This was life in the new colony seized by His Majesty, King of Svendasia, Knandle, the Plivarian states, and Quifledon, King Leon Vismark IX, Duke of Hgestan.

II.

The colony stayed untouched by the ominous empire to the East that owned it, only ever contacted when the tax collector and the mandatory crop exportation took place every 3 months, every 2 weeks during the humid summers. The colony was the product of imperialistic efforts to open new markets forcefully to gain more unpaid producers since the economy of the continent of Nesbury fell into a horrible depression three winters ago. The foreign policy was a success, placing Knandle as the leading superpower of Nesbury. As the economy flourished, Brinden suffered as an extractor state. More and more land was taken from angry natives, more and more citizens of the lower class were sent to the desolate colony to produce for the Empire, and less and less actions were taken to the almost impossible conditions the colony had. The lack of knowledge of the new land mass led to poisoned pioneers, diseased children, starved families who didn't know how to farm the strange soil. The Empire didn't lighten the burden with the enormous tax and exportations placed on the village communities of Brinden. And now the citizens lived in constant fear, fear of disease, fear of attack, fear of starvation. All while King Leon now lived as an old fat conservative, with rings of gold and silver and a robe so scarlet it seemed to be saturated of all the blood he let during his campaigns. His eyes were dark, like that of an angry man, yet his voice was jolly, his stomach large and his ankles swollen. His court was filled of women and loyal men who agreed with every remark he made. The only negative energy that entered his court was a sweaty short man in peasant clothes who ran to the King in a desperate cry of "Message for the King, Message for the King!" Irritated, the King Leon stood up commanding the man to talk. "There has been another slaughter of your loyal farmers at Brinden by the gruesome Grevsin tribes. They request help once again!"

"Send another diplomat," the king stated, returning to his session with his court lady, Madame Open-legs.

"Sir, the last five you've sent are dead." responded the messenger.

The king sat up again, "hmm, send a patrol,"

"But your last patrol was ambushed and decapitated, a patrol of 180 may I add," the Messenger said, head to the ground.

The king now stood up with full attention. "You're right, I cannot repeat that scenario again, a group of good men killed by a couple of brown savages, what an embarrassment."

"Your majesty," said a voice to the king's left. "May I recommend a reinforcement of your colony?" asked the king's trusted advisor in a confident tone. "These patrols only end in ambush and failure, if we were to educate and set up a system of government for these dense farmers, Knandle would not need to interject in this petty revolution. Armed farmers will be able to combat armed savages. All they need is a little learning." The advisor explained, with ups in downs in his voice, making it that more persuasive.

The king listened in silence, though the alcohol in his system was quite strong. "I suppose you are right Javon. If I wish to see this territory untouched by natives, I suppose a stronger hand by the government will have to be felt. I don't want a bunch of natives running around like they own the goddamn place."

"And if the farmers feel unfavorable to the slaughter," the advisor continued, "they may reach out to other nations who will protect them like the children they are, and reap the economic advantages of Brinden…"

"We cannot have that!" the King finally announced. "Messenger, you may leave. Javon, order a meeting in an hour to arrange this mess of a plan." The king ignored his many ladies and dressed in more formal robes in preparation for the meeting.

III.

The dining room rang with loud men, the heat of the Nesburian sun seaped through the windows even with the buckets of water set up by the servants to cool the indescribable heat of the evening. Men rustled their collars, intent on getting some air into their tight tunics. The powder on their faces became sticky and pasty, like the glue used to secure a broken leg to a table. Their adjusted hair became wet and rebellious, sticking up like pieces of dry hay. It looked like a company of players King Leon often watched in his court when his body grew tired of his sexual drive. As dukes and duchesses commanded their servants to fan them constantly with luxury feather fans from the South Peninsula cockatoo, King Leon ordered the noise to stop with his grandiose voice.

"So, you maybe wondering why I have ordered all of the nobility from Knandle on the hottest evening of the year." The aristocracy looked around, sweaty and smelly. "It is because Knandle is at risk of loosing its prized possession of Brinden to disgusting savages. Everyday they murder more and more of our innocent men in order to embarrass and reek havoc on the greatness of the Empire. I, I mean we, cannot let that happen. Knights and diplomats alike are useless against the waves of animals harassing the colony. Only governmental regulation will defend this jewel in the West! Why can't we just send these farmers arms to defend themselves, you may ask? My friend, farmers with swords are like rats with artisan cheeses; at first they may live in absolute harmony, but the rat cannot consume the luxuries cheese, it is poison to them. Farmers with swords too, end in corpses. No, no my friend. We must make knights of these petty farmers. Only knights may comprehend and understand the power of the sword. Only knights will be able to defend Brinden and drive off the savages. Only knights will be able defend the greatness of Knandle! But how will we make great, chivalrous knights out of dumb farmers who only know about wheat? With a strong Knandilian presence of course! With Knandle in this uncivilized colony, we may create a utopia of ideals Knandle stands on. We must only branch out our power; we must only be present in the lives of the simple Brinden people. That is all." With that the king ended in diplomatic glory. His loyal noblemen applauded him.

"But who will rein in this new land?" questioned someone in the back of the room. Everyone stood in complete disarray; one must never question the king when he has said his address.

"I beg your pardon madam; the king reins in all of Knandle and his territories. What a foolish question." Stated the advisor matter-of-factly.

From the shadows of the room came out a woman who looked at least 100. Her plump, shriveled frame seemed drowned in thick, decorated furs and tunics. Her face was blocked by a massive bonnet that had a light blue ribbon around it. Pearls sprinkled around her heavy garb. While everyone sat in utter discomfort from the heat in their lightest and thinnest summer clothing, there stood this woman in heavy, luxurious furs. When she lifted her head, her face was lined with wrinkles that made a canvas for her bright red lips and stone blue eyes. Her teeth were green and sour, like the cheese produced by the most refined farms of quality cheeses. Her movement was almost nonexistent, only for slow steps towards her chair. All the attention from the room landed on her frail body.

"Lady Ribaum, Duchess of Yyensiv, welcome." King Leon said enthusiastically. He would have quickly arrested any foolish woman who dared to stand before him and question him. Yet Lady Ribaum was different, she singlehandedly owned all property of East Knandle and the acquired lands of Svendasia. She herself relieved an entire economic downfall by investing in the suffering banks of Knandle. If wanted, she could easily dethrone Leon with her connections and destroy his family's fortune, making him no more than a peasant in a matter of weeks. So when she spoke, you listened.

"I just don't understand how you expect one man to control two entirely different populations of people without having to compensate. It seems foolish and disastrous. I expected more from you King Leon. Why not just assign this barbaric mess to some duke. Most of these dukes have nothing to do anyway but screw every prostitute they see." Most of the men in the room stated to squirm; their wives looked at them intently. "The way I see it, this is a perfect utilization of your power, to assign your loyal nobility land in the new colony." The pale women responded. Her voice was light and graceful, unlike her physical being. Silence filled the room for what seemed like an awkward amount of time.

"Who were you thinking of My Lady?" reacted the king halfheartedly. The room became silent as the frail women looked around, knowing her voice was the voice of God at that point.

"Why not her." With every bone in her body the lady pointed to the chair third away from the king. There, sitting in a trance, away from the situation at the moment, sat a young girl who was dressed in jeweled teal. She looked up, her hair slightly disheveled from the heat in the room. When her eyes met that of Lady Rimaud, her body froze, her chest became tight. The room stared at her, in utter awe.

"M…me?" answered the girl.

"Don't act dense girl, yes you, I think she would be excellent for this project King."

"Emilia?" asked Leon in confusion.

"This is an embarrassment!" cried out a voice from the nobility. "She's not a duke! She's not even an adult!" the room became loud in rebellious anger from the decision.

"That's were you are mistaken you bunch of idiots," the room fell silent as Lady addressed them. "She owns Limstritch, it was her 21st birthday gift if you remember."

"That's right." Supported the king. "But are you sure Emilia, she is still a girl."

"Nonsense, she can learn! This is a perfect opportunity for her to become a princess." Comforted the woman.

"Your Majesty, are you sure you want an entire colony ran by a girl? This is an important Knandlian investment. It isn't some rite of passage for land owners. Are you willing to put our nation at risk?" stated the advisor is violent outrage.

"Shut your mouth you fool, this colony already will be decimated with or without a man controlling it." Responded the old woman.

"Javon, keep quite, I suppose you are right Lady Rimaud, this colony will require royal blood. So it will be, prepare the ship and supplies Javon, we'll watch it sail away in the morning."

"But Sir, they is so much that needs to be addressed! We can't just-"

"Quite Javon, I'm sure you'll prepare everything." King Leon said as he left the room laughing with his mistresses. Emilia stayed in her chair, no one looking at her, no one addressing her, yet she was the most controversial person in the room.

IV.

After the ship was filled to capacity and Emilia stood at the dock waiting for a command to get on the ship, she realized the greatness of this task. She, herself, would rule over a nation. Not only a nation, a war-torn, almost starving, decimated of angry farmers. Plus, this country would be void of any political resources to build up a country. Extraction states tend not to provide the extractee with too many means of self governing and education. So many preparations needed to take place; it was all too quick, too lighthearted. Emilia saw her losing control of her own life; her world was spinning faster than she could comprehend. Her breathing became heavy when Javon, the thinly man, ordered for her baggage to be prepared in the early morning. Her duties were very simple till this point in her life: survive till your 2nd older brother dies, where you may or may not assume the throne. The possibility for this is almost non existent due to the fact Knandle never had a female ruler. Usually a mighty duke would seize the throne through means of "religious intervention" if a woman was ever next in line. This was the case with Lady Rimbaud and our Grandfather, Sheppard Gerald Vismark, a priest from Lysten who proclaimed Vasold himself contacted him and denounced that Lady was not fit for the throne. "Religious experts" or wicked men in search of spiting Lady Rimbaud declared the old man sane and he was given the title of Royal Sage. Lady Rimbaud was dethroned, a weak king was placed, and later the Sheppard announced his own son as king while Knandle suffered in the wake of the horrible king before him. Lady Rimbaud was brilliant, her rule would no doubt have brought years of economic boom, expansion, and the downfall of Knandle's foreign competition. Yet she just returned to her estate in Svendasia. King Leon was always warned of her presence, her revenge would be so strong it would wipe out the entire Vismark clan! Yet she only stood back as King Leon, a brilliant general, did his job as king, holding a forever grudge against his father, the man who usurped her throne. And the only thing she had ever said to the king was, "Emilia should rule". How did she even know of her existence?

Emilia pondered on these things and more when finally Javon yelled from the glorious ship before her that it was time. She looked around her, knowing her father hadn't said goodbye. "Typical" she thought. Her father knowing fully well she could probably die from this experience, left her for a quick pounding. She entered the ship in a slow wobble in her finest white lace, fit for a virgin martyr. Her hair sat awkwardly high on her head, trying to exude power, only exuding ridiculousness. Javon had fitted thousands of religious icons around her neck and fingers, like a decorated tree. In the ship, she slowly made her way to the royal chambers. The boat rocked and creaked like an old man in pain. The sea outside smelled of salt and metal. It gave her an intense headache. She followed the unnecessary silver plates and decor that lead her to her room, on top of the worker cabin. Javon stood there with several other royal servants in an appointment.

"Oh, Emilia, you've finally made your way into the ship, thank goodness, sometimes I feel like you lose touch with the world around you, you can't be spacey like a child Emilia." With that statement, Emilia's face became entirely red. "And you can't be shy, absolutely not, that trait will lead your people to revolution!" He snickered, the servants around him watched the girl in a more humorous light. Emilia could feel tears swelling in her eyes. She dare not cry, or she would receive further rebuking.

"Javon," she heard herself say, "I won't be needing your company at this moment please remove yourself." The quiver in her voice was very apparent, but Javon did not pick it up. He smiled at his servant and bowed to Emilia, leaving in a graceful strut. "As for you all, if you're done reprimanding me I think I'll be alone now. You may leave. The servants exited in a silent single filed line looking at the ground.

Finally alone, Emilia in a rage ripped off the foolish chains and gold around her body in a messy panic. After the episode, she sat on the thick bed, covered in what seemed like pounds and pounds of silk, knowing fully well the weather outside only allowed her to sleep on the top of all the blankets. On the other side of the room stood a mirror in an casual stance. Emilia got up and faced the reflection. She studied her figure in quite displeasure. She was too thin; she looked incapable of anything and looked as though she was always sick. Her skin was pale and sallow, giving the appearance of a ghost. She was awkwardly tall for her age, almost reaching higher than her father. Her fingers were long and thin, like candle sticks. Her hair was pale and bleached the inexposure to light made every color absent from her complexion. She had no breasts. Her collar bone was awkwardly apparent. Suddenly a forward push rocked all the furniture in the room got her out of her thoughts. "We're off!" yelled a sailor upstairs. And that was the last time Emilia ever saw Knandle.


End file.
